


ice cold

by mandadoration



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Blowjobs, Gen, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Smut, Soulmate AU, Soulmates, Voyeurism, although that's not the focus of it, but he's definitely into it, kind of not really, lowkey a footjob at first, only because mando never explicitly says anything, ruined orgasm, soul marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:53:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22626640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandadoration/pseuds/mandadoration
Summary: The fates haven’t been kind to you ever since you had your soulmate’s words etched right above your hip in scrawled handwriting, especially since it was a threat. But you had hope that maybe it was in jest, only to realize it was very much a threat when a Mandalorian bounty hunter is the one saying them to you.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV) & Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 292





	ice cold

You were starting to seriously doubt if those credits were worth having to hide for the rest of your life. 

Okay, so maybe that was an exaggeration. You wouldn’t have to be running or in hiding for the remainder of your life, but you won’t be able to show your face until whatever political turmoil was over and your name was already in the history logs and grey was streaking in your hair. Maker knows how long that will take. 

So for now, after having assassinated some politician or noble or both from Hosnian Prime, you had fled to an ice planet with no name in the Outer Rim to rest and recover for a week or two before you had to continue to keep moving. While it was nice to know that you had the credits to settle down and comfortably lay low for several years, there was no doubt that there were already a handful of pucks and tracking fobs out there literally with your name on it. So instead you had bought the thickest fur coat credits could buy when you had decided on this no name icy rock.

It was still freezing. 

You stare unhappily at your reflection in the quickly cooling cup of caf as you try and think of warmer places and sun under your ridiculous coat. You look like a damn nerf with how the fur curled up around your face. It was a gamble spending the credits to get this. You had bought it in a rush and barely raised a single noise of complaint when the vendor had told you the price. The shopkeeper had watched you with a wary eye, making sure the credits were real and frowning at you when you tapped your fingers impatiently against the table top, but eventually handed the coat over to you as you practically sprinted off-world. What was the point of having such a disposable income if you couldn’t spend it without raising a few suspicions? You wish that you could pull off the noble, high-class lady some of your assassin “friends” could do. If that were the case, you would’ve instead decided to hide away in some secluded resort under the guise of nobility trying to escape everyday life. That was a better alternative than this. You sigh and push the caf away in favor of pulling your scarf over your face to try and make sure your nose didn’t freeze off as you scan the room again. 

The cantina is quiet, save for the howling wind that’s picked up outside. It’s pitifully small and understocked with a single droid bartender idling, not enough customers to even be polishing glasses. There’s only two other people in here, both bundled up like you so that you can’t exactly tell what species they were. You figured that they were from some random outpost miles away in the snow. Some kind of mining business, you think, but the cold is making your teeth rattle and you can’t bother to follow that train of thought. The lighting is minimal here, the swirling snow outside blocking what little natural light there is. 

The door to the cantina opens, and all heads turn to see who it is. 

Your heart drops when you recognize the glint of beskar and the emotionless helmet of the Mandalorian in the threshold. You immediately burrow deeper into your coat and scarf, hoping that he would see that there was no one of import here and would leave, but he knows better than that. He scans the room once, his gaze stopping when he spots you huddled in the corner with wide eyes. Before you can even think about trying to leave, he strolls right up to your booth, footfalls heavy as he slides in the seat across from you without any preface. You stare at the dark ‘T’ of his visor, jaw clenched shut to stop your chattering. The Mandalorian places a puck on the table, and slides it over, showing the rotating hologram of your face. Your gaze is torn from your scowling image as he shifts to show the blaster he’s got attached to his hip. You don’t say anything, but instead opt to narrow your eyes and fix him with the harshest stare you can muster as you sit motionless in your seat. You doubt it actually does anything, but you were not about to let him bring you in after you had made the biggest paycheck in your life. 

“I can bring you in warm,” he says, voice smooth despite the crackling of the modulator, “or I can bring you in cold.” 

“I don’t think I can get any colder than I already fucking am,” you retort before you can even realize that now you’re burning up, heat emanating from the words scrawled across your left hip. At that, both you and Mando freeze, and it’s not because of the cold because now you can feel sweat trickling down your neck from the warmth that’s blooming though you, knowing the same is happening to the still bounty hunter across from you. You burst out in bitter laughter, the sound echoing through the cantina that you now realize is empty of the two previous patrons when Mando walked in. You tug your scarf down to try and combat the sudden heat. “Just my luck,” you chuckle, “that you of all people are my soulmate.” You lean back in your seat. Mando makes a sound of agreement, but he’s relaxed a little, too, shoulders slumping down from their previously rigid stance. Besides that, he betrays nothing.

You’re not sure what Mandalorians thought of soulmates, but in your culture, soulmates were a sacred thing. Two beings bound together with the song of each other’s voice, marked by their words on your skin. In this great, wide universe, it was rare nowadays that you would find your soulmate. Light years and status separated people from each other, especially with how rocky things were with the New Republic trying to get its feet under itself. If your soulmate was found, it was a celebration of such a sacred moment. But if you remember, your planet had been torn apart by war, and soulmates were the last thing on everyone’s mind as they scrambled to survive. You included. 

You pick up your cup of caf again, now completely cool, and take a sip as you watch Mando over the rim. That searing heat is starting to fade away, but the words stay warm. You feel your cheeks start to get splotchy from the cold. He tugs at the cape around his neck, but his gaze never drifts from your face. You won’t lie, his unyielding gaze is making you uncomfortable. If you could just see him, it would make things easier, not to mention you want to know what your soulmate looked like. You put the cup down. 

“I don’t suppose you can let me go?” you ask him. He shakes his head. 

“Bound by fate or not, I still gotta take you in. I’m guessing you won’t mind if you get colder, hm? I’ve heard carbonite can be quite cold,” he responds, tapping his fingers on the table before reaching out to take the puck back. Maker, his voice sounds so nice. You wish you could spend forever listening to it. It was nice and rich, and you swear you could hear the slightest tinge of flirtation when he talked to you. Still, he was a bounty hunter, and he still had the intentions to bring you in. You tilt your head and smile. 

“I think I do mind,” you say, voice low. In your mind, you formulate a little plan. You just needed to distract him until the wind outside died down a little… “I don’t really like being in carbonite. Doubt there’s anyone that actually likes it.” Mando sighs.

“That’s too bad,” he says cooly. Good. At least he’s entertaining you so far. 

“Quite.” You tilt your head as you rake your eyes over him, finger trailing over the rim of the cup in circles as you gnaw on your bottom lip, the other hand playing the with collar of your fur coat. 

And now you’re dragging your shoe up his leg, ignoring the ammo and the armor as you gently make your way up higher and higher and higher until you hear his breath hitch. You grin wickedly as you press the sole of your boot against his cock. Besides the smile playing at your lips, your face betrays no emotion, mirroring the lack of emotion on Mando’s helmet as you continue to play with his cock. 

“What are you doing?” Mando grits out, voice low. He hisses at a particularly rough swipe. You’re usually more nimble and do things with more finesse, but it was difficult when your boots were thick and your legs were half-numb from the cold. However, Mando still responds, shifting in his seat and spreading his legs a little wider under the table; looks like he doesn’t mind you being a little rough. You wish you could see how hard he was for you, but instead you focus on how his hands clench on the table.

“What do you mean?” you ask innocently, pouting your lips as you continue to prod him under the table. 

“We’re in public,” Mando mutters, but you feel him thrust up.

“There’s only a droid,” you scoff, nodding your head in its direction where it still sits idling. You pull your foot back, preening and how he lets a sound of displeasure. “But let me know if someone else walks in,” you add on, just before you slip under the table. 

“What are you-- oh--!” Mando’s knee jerks up, narrowly missing your face and hitting the table when you palm him over his pants. The lighting is nearly none down here, but you can see how much he’s straining under his pants. You hum under your breath, cursing your numb fingers as you fumble with the buckle, and pointedly ignore the blaster. But eventually you get it open, and you pull his throbbing cock from his pants. He’s half hard, deliciously thick, and you nearly moan when your fingers barely touch each other when you wrap a hand around it. 

As you smear the precum beading at the tip around the head of his cock, you peer at him from where you kneel between his legs. “Are you getting off on this?” you murmur. “The idea that someone could walk in and see me kneeling here?” A low groan rumbles in his chest when you give him a few pumps. His cock grows every passing second. You lick your lips before enveloping as much of him as you can in one fell swoop. He curses, a gloved hand reaching down to thread through your hair and tugging. You hate to say it, but you gag a little, his size forcing your chapped lips to stretch around him almost painfully. The inches you can’t swallow are taken care of by your hand, rotating your grip around him as you pull back. 

“I don’t bargain with bounties,” Mando says to you, breathless, chin to his chest as he observes how your eyes shine from tears. You spit into your palm and go back to languidly stroking him. The grip in your hair tightens. 

“Who says I’m bargaining?” you ask him, and suck the head of his cock as you pump him up and down. His legs twitch, and you dip your head down again. He’s amazingly receptive for someone that usually comes off so cold. You don’t complain. Instead, you bring your free hand to play with his balls as you continue to blow him. He huffs out a short laugh. 

“Then what are you doing?” he says back, voice strained, cutting off into a strangled groan when you gag around him. You’re aching and wet, but that was the least of your issues. You were too busy trying to hear the wind that was starting to die down over the roar of blood rushing in your ears. But Mando’s soft moans were so sinfully nice, drawing your attention back to the microscopic thrusts of his hips as he tries to hold back from fucking your mouth. You briefly what it would be like for him to actually do that, to hold your head steady, grip tight in your hair as he fucks into your mouth like that’s all you’re good for in the safety of some room instead of the open floor plan of a dingy cantina. 

You pull back, licking your lips as you pump his fat cock in fast, tight motions as you give yourself some time to breath. While you do so, admiring how he squirms in his seat, you spot the beginning of your handwriting in the same spot your mark is. Left hip. The  _ I don’t think _ is cut off by his shirt, and you reach a thumb to move it out of the way. Mando’s other hand comes down to grab your wrist. “Don’t,” he warns, voice gravelly as he brings your hand away from his hip and back to his cock. You roll your eyes, but bring your head down again, if not for his sake then for yours, trying to ignore how your knees feel sore from kneeling on the cold, unforgiving ground. Mando has started to slowly release his self-control as he nears closer to orgasm, thrusting to meet the warmth and softness of your mouth.

Over his pants and your own gasps for breath, you hear the wind outside has died down significantly. You amp up your ministrations, taking him deeper and curling your tongue up the thick vein on the underside of his shaft everytime you go up, trying to speed up his orgasm. He audibly moans as that; he tries to smother it, but it’s loud and clear in the quiet of the cantina. Mando pulls at your hair painfully.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he growls under his breath. You feel his balls started to tighten and pull up as he teeters on the edge of cumming. It hurts, but you manage to pull off of him with one last hard suck and wrench out of his iron grip on your hair, removing your mouth and hands as he thrusts into open air, watching with sadistic amusement as cum dribbles pathetically out of him and down his cock as lets out a barely audible moan. You can practically feel his frustration from where you were. You pop back up from under the table, staring right where you think his eyes would be as you lick your lips again and wipe the saliva dripping down your chin off. His hands are back on the table, gripping the edge of the table in a tight grip, shaking with the effort of keeping his sounds contained. “You little shit,” he says after a moment. You smile at him with bruised and swollen lips, blinking up at him through your lashes, opening your mouth as if to say something, and you know Mando is looking at your glistening lips--

Instead you toss your cold cup of caf in his face and upturn the table. You dash to the door of the cantina before Mando can react, pushing the table off of him as he tries to get his bearings and tuck his soft cock back in. The bartender droid jerks awake, beeping at you as you leave without paying. It’s blisteringly cold outside, the wind biting at any exposed skin and nipping at your face, but you grit your teeth as you pull the scarf back over your face and jump on your speeder bike, hightailing it out of there and away from the cantina. The heat from the words on your hip start to fade as you get further and further away, but the burning, bubbling feeling of arousal stays. 

You know he’s letting you get away. The Mandalorian wasn’t called the best in the parsec without reason, and it would be easy for him to track you down again. He never lets a bounty get away. Having to leave this damned ice planet was no great loss to you. You had credits to spare and get you as far from here as possible. Not too far, maybe. Just enough that he’ll have to work a little to find you. You will be waiting for him when he does. You miss him already, and you’re really wondering what he sounds like unhindered by the helmet and unhindered with the fear of being walked in on.


End file.
